


River Flows In You

by JovialHarp5159



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, But not ABO/Omegaverse, Death of Major Characters, M/M, Suicide, it's a sad'un, mentioned mpreg, spoilers for chapter 8 onward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 06:04:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JovialHarp5159/pseuds/JovialHarp5159
Summary: “Reception’s shit. Hope classical is ok.” He says dropping back down into his chair. Ignis swallows thickly. No. classical was anything but ok.Gladio and Ignis are struggling to find purpose in a world without Noctis, and Prompto. They're winding down at the end of the day, when a familiar song drifts from the radio. Rated M for mentions of suicide





	River Flows In You

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr request by Silverdrift, for "this is my favorite song", and Gladnis. it's incredibly angsty, and has mentions of death, suicide, and mpreg. Mentions of a one night stand between Prompto and Talcott.

The sun had been rising for just over a year and a half. gentle rays fell haphazardly across fields, and streams, life had begun to fall back into the cycle of birth, life, death, and though there were many places that needed to be rebuilt, many crops that people had to relearn how to manage, and many towns that still bore the tell-tale signs of their time spent in the world of ruin, it was staggering just how much everything remained utterly invariable. The world carried on, people lived, filling their lives with disport and love, and lust, and rage, and a thousand other trivial emotions, with no real thought given to why they were able to do so. No real consideration to the sacrifices made to ensure that the simple gift of a sunrise over the horizon was something tangible.

The sun had been rising for just over a year and a half, and it never stopped hurting. This was the thought that floated through Ignis’s mind, as he trudged behind Gladio through the winding streets of Lestallum, a town that he would honestly be fine never setting foot in again, were he the type for dramatics. Sine he wasn’t, he tightened his grip on his cane, and set one foot in front of the other, in a way that he swore was allegorical. He heard the gentle thudding of feet, likely children’s, and stopped dead in his path, pausing to allow the small body to pass.

“Alistair! Come on hon, come back over here.” A young voice reprimanded the child gently, and Ignis tilted his head to the side ever so slightly.

“Hey, Talcott.” Gladio said, his voice half a step higher than it usually was, a typical sign that he was trying not to show whatever emotion it was he was feeling. Talcott sighs, ever so slightly, a tiny exhale of breath, one that Ignis had learned frequently accompanied an awkward or reluctant smile. He supposed in this instance, either made sense. He felt a tug on his pants leg, and Talcott made an almost imperceptible embarrassed sound, before stepping forward.

“Alistair Argentum Hester!” he said, exasperatedly, rushing forward to scoop up the toddler, who squealed in response, seemingly putting up a fight. Ignis smiled halfheartedly.

“He’s fine, Talcott. I assure you. How are you?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice even.

“Good. Tired. /someone/ is on a nap strike this week.” He honestly sounds much more exhausted than the lighthearted words give credit to, and Ignis wonders, for a brief moment if “tired” is the only problem. He feels the air around him shift, and Gladio lays a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Gods, he looks just like his dad.” The former shield says in a quiet, awe struck tone. There’s an awkward silence, and Talcott finally manages to squeak out a sound to something in the affirmative.

“Yeah… I get that a lot.” His tone is hollow, and Ignis feels his heart sink. Of course he looked like him. What he wouldn’t give to see for himself. Alistair squeals happily and claps his hands.

“PAPA?!” Talcott sighs gently and shifts, presumably setting the squirming body back down on the ground.

“No baby. Papa’s not here.” The crack in the young mans voice is almost enough to cause a physical pain. His weight shifts, in a way that could be a shrug. “He uh… he has a friend that says it all the time, he doesn’t… he doesn’t know.” The silence that follows the boy’s words is oppressive. Ignis finally clears his throat and ducks his head curtly.

“Condolences.” Talcott shifts his weight and scoffs.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you guys?” his tone is flat on the surface, and most people wouldn’t notice, but if there was anything that nearly 12 years of complete darkness had taught Ignis, it was that it was much harder to lie to a blind man. He’s angry. Not able to keep _every_ bit of bitterness out of his voice. Before Ignis can come up with something tactful, comforting to say, Gladio grunts quietly, defensively.

“He made his choice.” For half a second, Ignis is certain that he can smell ozone on the breeze, but Talcott, for his part keeps his voice perfectly level

“Alistair, say bye.” The toddler, who had wandered a few feet away, by the sound of his voice, giggles and claps again.

“Bye! Bye bye bye!” Ignis sighs, and pushes the dark glasses up his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Goodbye Talcott.” Talcott scoffs, but has the decency to mutter out a brief “later, Ignis.” Before walking away, swiftly.

Ignis growls quietly, and pushes past Gladio, putting every bit of ice he can manage into his tone.

“You’re a brute.”

Gladio growls, and quickens his pace up the cobblestone street. “He killed himself, Iggy. He left us. All of us. He’s not a saint.”

***

Camping isn’t a necessity any longer. They could just as easily stay in any hotel in the world. They could find an apartment, or a house. Hell, at this point, they could go back to the citadel if they wanted. The monarchy was thrown into a complete state of confusion, upon the death of the 114th king, and the oracle line, but a kingdom isn’t destroyed because one generation gets snuffed out. There was a ridiculously long list of possible heirs presumable, and the prophecy was entirely unclear about the fate of the oracle. There was nothing to say that another couldn’t be born, in time, from a different line. There was a time in his life, when Ignis would have expected to be in the middle of the bureaucratic nightmare, attempting to figure out how to run a kingdom with no king, but he had less than no interest in it. Who was going to make him fulfill that duty? As far as he was concerned, his duty had never been to the crown, but rather to Noctis himself. With no Noctis, he saw no reason to return. That sprawling metropolis that had always been home, was only empty and devoid of anything pleasant, now.

He sighed heavily, as he plopped down into the camp chair, knowing that across from him, the other two are likely sitting out, as more a force of habit than anything. Gladio always did it in the weeks after they lost Prompto and Noctis, and when Ignis had finally deigned to ask him about it, he grumbled  noncommittally, and was quiet for a long time. “I miss them” was all that he had managed to say, before the subject was dropped for the rest of the evening, and Ignis never did press him on it, because he understood. He missed them too. He missed them with a pain that was so palpable, that he felt it like a weight on his chest at every moment of every day.

Gladio is quiet now, slumped down in a chair facing in toward the fire, likely reading. He shifts uneasily, like he desperately wants to say something. Ignis raises an eyebrow, nonverbal invitation to speak, and receives a sigh in response.

“Do you… want me to read to you?” he asks, voice hardly managing to keep steady. Ignis shakes his head, but smiles gently.

“No, thank you love. I doubt if I could focus on a thing you said now. And your taste in books is atrocious.” He hopes the playful jibe is received in the way that he wants it to be. Gladio smirks, if the slight huff in his breath is any indication, and Ignis is relieved.

“Well, we can’t just sit here in silence forever. Radio?” Ignis pauses to consider this for a moment.

“I suppose no harm can come of that.” Gladio shuffles around for a moment, and there’s the soft click of the small portable radio, and static billows forth into the quiet campsite. The older man fiddles for a moment, before the quiet tones of piano begin to drift out gently.

“Reception’s shit. Hope classical is ok.” He says dropping back down into his chair. Ignis swallows thickly. No. classical was anything but ok. He sighs quietly, leans back into his chair, closing his eyes, determined to keep his mind quiet.

The tune that plays is jaunty. The type of song that’s fun for the listener, but a brutal challenge for the player. Ignis’s not heard it before, but he’s familiar with its type. A little known fact of their lost prince, king, he reminds himself bitterly, is that when he was younger, he played piano, quite proficiently. It was an activity that didn’t require too much physical exertion, but demanded just enough dilligence, that it let Noctis spend hours practicing, without the worries of carrying an entire country bleeding into his thoughts. He lost himself, in a way, when playing, and as he got older, as his destiny creeped ever closer, the pieces he picked became more somber, downright melancholic on bad days. When he began to learn the more lugubrious pieces, he moved on to songs less sweeping. Heavy, technical pieces, often in a jarring minor, that demanded every last bit of his focus to maintain. Ignis had worried for him, when he’d mastered all of Braham’s Paganini variations, and even Chopins Etude’s offered little challenge. Surely the young boy couldn’t work himself any harder.

But that was when he had met Prompto. The blond comprised entirely of nervous energy, and good intentions ensorcelled the young prince in ways that Ignis was furtively jealous of. Soon after they became friends, Noctis’s playing altered yet again. Where before the halls of the citadel would ring out with music that felt abstruse, difficult, chaotic even, there were now pieces that were much gentler, more soaring, and whimsical in ways that were designed to pull at the heartstrings. Trills and arpeggios returned in a way that showed devotion, acceptance, and to anyone who knew the prince as well as Ignis did, love. The advisor had fought with his feelings on the matter, for far longer than he would ever admit in polite company. Noctis had always, in a way belonged to him, as he belonged to Noct, and the metamorphosis from a boy with caliginous acceptance, to aerial hope was frightening. Ignis feared that he was losing the boy for whom he’d never named his feelings, but in time he realized that rather than losing his reticent night sky, he was gaining an impetuous dawn, all bright smiles, and gentle touches. The two complimented each other in ways that most people spent entire lifetimes searching for. He hesitated to say “soulmates”, because it rang cliché and hollow, but he didn’t know of a word powerful enough to describe them otherwise.

The first time that Prompto had ever watched Noctis play, his eyes were alight with wonder, and Ignis doubted if he ever blinked once. Noctis had blushed, and apologized for being a “nerd” but Prompto had only smiled in the understanding way of his and assured him “No dude, that’s so cool! You like, have to teach me.” Gladio had scoffed.

“Are you kidding me? Noctis is a terrible teacher. And Prompto wouldn’t know dedication if it jumped up and bit him in that fine ass of his.” But Ignis wasn’t so sure. He’d raised his eyebrows and smirked, wittingly.

“We’ll see.” And they did. Prompto sat beside Noctis on the piano bench, left arm wrapped around his waist in a way that spoke, somehow, of both passion and piety, as his right hand nervously plunked at the keys, until he’d managed to gather something of a tune. Where Noctis’s movements were fluid, and certain, his were more halting, second guessing every stroke. While in almost every endeavor Prompto was unsure and nervous, with playing, at least at Noct’s side, he was able to reach something of a confidence, and gods but was it entrancing. Gladio, ever the man of few words, never said as much outright, but he conceded that maybe Ignis was right. Maybe Prompto was special. To all of them. The shield had begun to spend more time hanging out in the open drawing room that housed the pitch black baby grand, as Promptos confidence grew, and the pairs playing morphed into something more practiced. He claimed that the lighting in that room was better for reading, with all of the large windows, and hey, he was supposed to spend time guarding the prince right? But Ignis knew. Gladio was every bit as enraptured, as he himself was. Ignis supposed, that if he had to put a finger on when the four had become a functioning relationship, it was sometime around then. When afternoons were spent lazily reading, tidying up and pouring over council notes, and filling the halls with the sweetest music he’d ever heard.

There’s a proverb, some banality, that speaks of good things never lasting as long as they should, and Ignis wonders if maybe there isn’t some truth to that. Everything changed when Noctis’s engagement to Lunafreya was announced. Noctis and Gladio both withdrew, Noctis to sleep, and Gladio to more and more training sessions, until he was so tired that he could flop into bed and drift off to sleep, without thinking too much on the situation. Ignis, not surprisingly, handled the situation with dignity. At least on the surface. Inside, he was panicking, and his heart felt like it was on fire. Try as though he might, he couldn’t get Noctis, or Gladio either one to open up to him, and actually address the issue. Prompto spent days staring back and forth between the other three, blue eyes clouded over as though he were deep in thought. Finally, maybe two weeks after the announcement had been made, he somehow convinced Noctis to come back to the piano. Ignis had been in an office just down the hall, pretending to read a report, when he heard a familiar, particularly plucky tune start to play at roughly half time. Curiosity getting the better of him, he wandered down the hall and into the drawing room, to find the two sitting next to each other, like nothing had ever changed.

“Ok, wait, move down.” Prompto said quietly, eyeing the top keys like they were some immensely difficult puzzle.

“Down?” Noctis questioned slowly?

“Yeah, go like a half step down. Change the key.” Noctis had raised an eyebrow, but done as he was asked, playing the first few bars of the song solo, at a reduced tempo. Prompto nodded, eyebrows still knit together in concentration. “Good. Go back to full speed, and keep going.” Noctis had rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, but did picked up the tempo, and looped through the first part of the song easily. Just as he had opened his mouth to question, Prompto raised his right hand, and repeated the same bit of music in concert, an octave higher. The result was staggering. The already beautiful song managed to take on an entirely different quality, the higher register clashing with the lower trills, in the most wonderful of ways. Noctis laughed, honest to god laughed, and it was the best sound that Ignis had ever heard.

“When did you learn this?” He questioned, around a genuine smile, and Prompto shook his head gently. 

“Don’t ask me questions, I’ll mess up dude.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than he hit a wrong note, a touch lower than it should have been. He cursed under his breath, and Noctis nudged into him gently.

“It’s ok. It’s good.” He smiled encouragingly, and moved his hands up a half step more. “what happens if I do this?”

Prompto faltered for a second, before moving his left hand from Noct’s hip, and crossing it under his right arm, delicately plucking at a few keys. “This? Right?” Noctis smirked and laughed.

“Close enough.” Ignis smiled, and backed out of the room, shutting the door quietly. Maybe everything would be alright after all.

He’s wrenched out of his reverie, by the sickening sound of the same song, ringing out too tinny, and slightly staticky on the old portable radio. *Oh gods, not this…* Gladio hums quietly, and closes his book.

“Doesn’t this song sound familiar?” he questions, and Ignis gulps. He doesn’t want to hear this song. He doesn’t want to be reminded about the love shared by both of his mates, that a fate crueler than death had taken from him. He wants to scream, and cry, and go to bed and sleep until the sweet notes of a piano no longer mean anything to him. His face must betray some emotion, because Gladio stands, and walks over to him, touching his wrist gently. He shakes his head.

“What?” he asks in a voice that he hopes sounds disinterested and unaffected. Gladio grabs his hand, and pulls him up, by way of answer.

“I’m supposed to believe you forgot this song?” he asks gruffly. Ignis hangs his head slightly, and steps away ever so slightly.

“I haven’t forgotten. I just… it’s too much, Gladio.” He says shakily. Gladio steps closer, wraps his arms around the younger man, and it’s all he can do to stifle the sob that’s attempting to work its way up his throat. He makes a pathetic choking sound, and Gladio either chooses to ignore it, or has gone deaf.

“Dance with me?” he asks whisper soft, directly against the curve of Ignis’s ear, and the younger man blinks, sending hot tears sliding down his face.

“Gladio, I can’t.” he says breathlessly. The older man chuckles quietly, and wipes the tears away in the gentle way that he saves for moments of apology.

“I’ve seen you fight hordes of daemons, without eyes, but you can’t dance?” he asks in a quiet voice. Ignis sighs heavily.

“What if…” Gladio kisses him gently, stops the rest of the sentence.

“Trust me.” Ignis is quiet for a long time, doesn’t know what to say, settles for a curt, jerky nod. Gladio wraps a warm hand over his, and nestles his other arm across his back, moves patiently, slowly, leading, but allowing Ignis to set the pace. Ignis hasn’t danced in at least ten years. Hasn’t wanted to, hasn’t seen any need in it. So he stumbles once or twice, nearly falling, but Gladio catches him, waits for him to regain his balance before moving again. The third time that this exchange happens, Ignis starts to pull away, to give up, but a kiss to the cheek, and a soft voice stops him.

“You’re beautiful, you know?” Ignis scoffs derisively.

“You’re delusional.” Gladio doesn’t respond to the comment, merely kisses the tip of his nose, and continues leading tenderly. He doesn’t speak for a long time, and when he does, it’s to offer only two words.  
“I’m sorry.” Ignis sighs, understandingly, and feeling more confident in his movements, lays his head on his partners chest.

“Does…” he chokes on raw emotion briefly, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Does he really look like Prompto?” he asks almost voicelessly. Gladio nods, his chin brushing against the top of Ignis’s head.

“Just like him. Same hair, same freckles… Darker eyes. And his face is rounder, he’s got Talcotts bone structure.” Ignis bites into his lip to avoid crying.

“I… I miss them so much.” His eyes burn, and he keeps them wide, hoping to stave off the tears that are forming. The music sweeps upward, picking up tempo, and Ignis can’t help but think that it’s utterly flat without the higher notes, sweet, but not right. Like the Tenebraen tarts he used to make, but missing an ingredient. Gladio nods.

“I do too. And I know it’s been a year and a half, but I’m still so pissed at Prom for leaving us.”

Ignis closes his eyes, can easily see his face, but it’s not smiling. It’s not furrowed in concentration, or even blushing at a poorly worded joke, or a forward touch. It’s twisted in pain, and utter brokenness, screaming at the Gods, who refuse to listen.

***

_“NOOOOOCTT! NOCTIS, NO!”_

_Ignis’s eyes close and a sob wracks his body as he remembers his own voice clear as day, hollow, devoid of any feeling at all. “Prompto… he’s gone.” The blonde shakes his head, and clutches the broken, bloody body in front of him._

_“No…No it wasn’t supposed to be like this! He did what he was supposed to…” His voice rasps, and the sound is… wrong. Empty. Hollow in a way that is terrifying. Ignis reaches out a hand._

_“Prompto? Love?”_

_Threre’s a tiny sob, and a click that sounds too familiar. Too much like a gun. Gladio tenses, and is shouting in the next instant. Ignis’s blood runs cold._

_“PROMPTO!” there’s a moment of silence, and it’s too long, heavy with emotion, fear, and possibility. When Prompto speaks, it’s a tiny emotionless sound_

_“Take Iggy out of here. Please.”the blond asks. Ignis shakes his head, horrified,and Gladio growls loudly_

_“No! you knew! You knew what it meant to be the chosen king!” there’s a beat of silence, and then Gladio’s sobbing himself. “Prompto. Please.” Prompto is quiet for a minute, and Ignis can hear his own heart in his ears, and nothing else._

_“Please, Prompto. We still have each other.” Ignis pleads._

_Prompto’s quiet for a long time before he speaks again._

_“Yeah… Ok.” Ignis sobs, both in his memories, and in the present. Gladio smooths his hands over his back and shushes him gently._

_It’s Talcott, who finds him. Prompto hasn’t left his apartment in too long, and Talcott is starting to worry, goes looking for him. When he unlocks the door and lets himself in, he immediately knows that something is wrong. He moves to the bedroom, and Prompto's passed out, curled up in an awkward way, clutching the pillow like it's his only lifeline. His breaths are so shallow, that Talcott isn't sure whether or not they're actually there. He tries to wake Prompto up, to no avail. he screams, and he's terrified, But he’s breathing. He’s breathing, that’s what matters. He fumbles for his phone, and pushes dials quickly, brushing aside a chunk of blond locks._

_When Ignis makes it to the hospital, Talcott’s curled up in a tiny ball on an uncomfortable chair, in an even more uncomfortable waiting room. “Ignis, I… they say he’s in a coma… they don’t know if… I’m so sorry!” the boy is sobbing, and Ignis goes to hug him, thinking to himself how twenty was entirely too young to be dealing with this. But he didn’t exactly feel more equipped at thirty two either. As the younger boy shakes and sobs against him, something clatters to the floor. Ignis moves to pick it up off of the floor, and Talcott squeaks quietly. Ignis hands the small rectangle over, and Talcott freezes._

_“I’m-I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I have it with me I just…” Ignis cocks his head to the side._

_“What is it?” he asks quietly. When the boy doesn’t answer, his mind kicks into overdrive, trying to make sense of the puzzle in front of him._

_“Talcott...?” he says gently. The boy bursts out into tears, and buries his face in some other part of his body._

_“It was a one night stand. We were both drunk, I… he missed Noctis, and I… I’m an idiot. I was going to tell him…” Ignis sighs long-sufferingly, and tries not to tighten his jaw with the rage that he feels._

_“Are you pregnant, Talcott?” the empty sob serves as answer enough for him._

_***_

Ignis takes a steadying breath. “we’re both hurt, darling. But that’s no reason to take it out on Talcott and Alistair.” Gladio sighs.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Ignis nods and touches Gladios face gently as the song comes to a close, feels the telltale smear of tears.

“I think he’ll understand. In time.” Gladio nods, and kisses Ignis’s forehead softly. Ignis stifles a yawn, and leans against his chest. After a long time, when it seems that there are no more tears to cry, Ignis asks in a shaky voice,

“Bed, darling?” Gladio shifts, in a manner that must be a nod, and moves to turn off the radio, and snuff the fire. Ignis takes a deep breath, offers a silent prayer that he hopes Prompto and Noctis can somehow hear. _I don’t know where you are. But I hope that it’s together. Wait for us._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't hate me!  
> Also, join me on Tumblr, @ TheJovialKynnadyg-ray. I sometimes do things!


End file.
